Major Carey exploded:
“Young man, you have some high and mighty ideas. Aspley plantation is dear at $20 an acre. This is the return for all my generosity.”
“You’re getting seven per cent annually for your generosity,” retorted the boy.
“Are you prepared to pay this debt?” came from Major Carey savagely.
“I’ll be prepared in time,” rejoined Morey with assurance. “Our farm isn’t worth $20 an acre for tobacco. Perhaps it isn’t worth any more for corn. But, you know, land can be used for other things. It’s worth $200 an acre for fruit. I’ll sell enough of it to pay you all and I’ll be ready to make good when the money’s due.”
Major Carey sank into a chair.
“And if you or Captain Barber or Mr. Bradner have any occasion to see my mother on business in the meantime I suggest they make a report on the two years’ use of our one hundred and eighty-acre corn piece. And, by the way,” added Morey, “if my mother needs some small amounts of money this summer I wish you would instruct Mr. Bradner to let her have what she needs. You can charge it to our open corn rent account.”
The perspiration was rolling from the excited planter’s face. Leaning forward he grasped Morey by the arm.
“You’re a fool,” he said huskily.
“So you told me last night—that I resembled my mother.”